5

A Spot of Trouble

Belle giggled as her kitten raced about her chamber, chasing a small ball of yarn from her workbasket. She watched as Rumple pounced and sprang, grasping the trailing end of the yarn in his small paws and then rolling over, biting it and kicking with his hindlegs, just as he would have a mouse or some other small prey, to kill it. As Rab had observed, the wee cat's rumpled ears didn't affect his hearing or his ability to play, and his antics were keeping his mistress, who was stuck in bed, vastly amused. Belle dangled her arm over the bed and wriggled her fingers, making a soft "Psst! Psst! C'mere, wee Rumple!" to attract the kitten.

The ever-curious kitten lifted his head from his yarn and then jumped up, bounding over to see this new moving thing.

"Hello, wee lad!" she crooned as Rumple batted her fingers and she scratched the gold and white cat along his back.

Rumple arched into her hand and purred loudly, rubbing himself against her hand.

Belle stroked and played with him, until the kitten grew weary, jumped up on the bed and settled in her lap, purring happily, his evergreen eyes closing. The Fraser heiress smiled, her lips curving pleasantly, as she gazed down at her pet. "Aye, I've tired ye out, haven't I?" She ran her fingers through the silky coat, thinking again how fortunate she was to have a husband who had given her this sweet cat for her own. Perhaps . . .perhaps this handfasting would not be so bad after all.

She sighed and looked at her splinted bandaged ankle, thinking what a nuisance it was. Then again, mayhap it was a blessing in disguise, for with it she now had twelve weeks to acclimate herself to her husband, his family, and her new home at Carlyle keep. She wondered when they would travel there, knowing that it was because she had been ill that they had delayed doing so.

Not that she was all that eager to leave her home, but she knew she had to leave eventually, now that she was Rab's wife. She picked up her Book of Hours, and began to read the devotional for this day, April 15th, 1565. Proverbs 15:1 A gentle answer turneth away wrath, but harsh words stir up anger.

She pondered those words, thinking how apropos they were considering how she was now handfasted to the son of her enemy. Not that she had much opportunity to quarrel with Rab since falling sick, but perhaps this was God's way of warning her that some disagreement might be pending, and she had better be prepared to speak softly to mitigate someone's wrath?

Thus far, trapped in her room, resting after her bout with fever and drinking Rab's herbal tonics, Belle had little opportunity to meet anyone from her husband's clan save his wee brother Neal and for a brief moment or two his papa, Malcolm, during the handfasting. She hoped they were all getting along with her family and their retainers.

Just then her chamber door opened and in walked her mother. "Belle, how are you feeling today?"

"Much better than yesterday, Mama," she said. She indicated the kitten asleep in her lap. "Rab gave me a present, a wee kitty of my very own. Was it not thoughtful of him?"

Margaret smiled at the small animal. "Aye, 'twas thoughtful of him. I see he kens ye well, daughter. Most other lasses would prefer flowers or jewelry, but ye—ah he kens what yer heart loves most. Now, I heard that yer husband's sire wished to leave today, but yer husband wished to wait another day to make sure ye were up t' the journey." Her tone was approving. "That's a wise man, Belle. I think ye have the best o' the lot. Have ye eaten?"

"Aye. Missus Potts brought breakfast and the noon meal. Then she and Alanna packed most of my things for me."

"Good," Margaret said pleasantly. "Would ye like me to comb yer hair?"

Belle smiled and nodded. Doing her hair was difficult with her one arm and sprained wrist. She also knew that this was the last time her mother would perform this task for her, and so she sat up and turned slightly, so Margaret could comb out her lush hair and fix it with ribbons and braid it in a coronet.

As she brought the brush through her hair, Belle gave a soft sound of contentment. And suddenly she wished she could remain this way forever, in her father's house, with her mother's gentle example to follow. "It's too bad I canna stay here this way . . ."

Her mother continued to brush her hair, saying softly, "I ken ye are nervous, Belle. 'Tis how most young lasses are when they hae to leave home an' cleave t' their husbands. But think . . .there will be a whole new household for ye to organize and show yer skills, as I hae taught ye, and it will be an adventure . . .one of the only adventures most lasses are allowed to have."

Belle nodded. "Yer right, Mama . . .it's just . . . a lot to adjust to. But I shall manage. My husband . . .he's no' really as all the tales say."

"No . . .he saved yer life, Belle. His skill as a doctor is more than any o' us kenned, and I never was so grateful in my life for a man who can heal rather than warrior who can fight. He's no' like most men, Belle, but I think ye should celebrate the differences rather than let them come between ye."

"Aye, I ken, but . . .what about the rest o' his family? I dinna ken how well they will treat me," Belle fretted.

"Dinna fash yerself, lass. Ye'll be the tanist's wife an' none shall offer ye insult, even if ye were a Fraser," Margaret soothed. "Besides, I think yer husband will no' allow anyone t' speak ill o' ye."

Belle supposed that might be true, considering it would not reflect well on him. Then she shrugged, thinking that she could handle any rudeness tossed her way with aplomb and tact, as she had been raised to do. Feeling somewhat better, she leaned into the strokes of the boar bristle brush, and just relaxed, allowing her mother to dress her hair and make her feel lovely even when she was injured and stuck in bed.

Margaret happily braided her daughter's hair, thinking sadly that she would miss doing this, as this was her last child and she would miss her witty and intrepid daughter, even when her actions sometimes made Margaret's hair almost white. But she loved all her daughters, though she was closest to her youngest, as Belle had been with her longest. Still, all children grew up, and it was time for Belle to spread her wings and fly. Margaret hoped she would fly far, and succeed in all her endeavors and be content in her new life.

Page~*~*~*~Break

Supper in the hall consisted of a haunch of venison, a poached salmon, new potatoes, carrots and peas, and a dessert of chocolate pudding and shortbread. There were copious amounts of sweet cider, ale, and Scotch whiskey. After the meal was over, there were some entertainers and singers and though several of the ladies retired upstairs to Margaret's solar for tea and scones, some chose to remain below in the hall with their maids, watching the plays and listening to the singers.

Rab felt weariness steal over him, as he had been up since early that morn, seeing to the packing of his own things and Neal's, even though he knew his gillie, Theo, was efficient, Rab preferred to be self sufficient. He'd also been brewing some more tonics and herbal drafts for the lady of the castle, to replace what he had used, as well as examining his wife to make sure she was no longer feverish. He'd then gone for a walk with Neal and Winter, returning just as supper was put on the table.

Now, despite the entertainment, Rab found he was not really in the mood to stay in the hall, where bunches of raucous men, one of them his own father, were in their cups and playing at games of chance just as soon as the entertainers were finished.

Neal shuffled his feet beneath the table and said to Rab, "I oughta walk Winter b'fore bed, Rab." The dog slept with the boy beside the bed and sometimes on it as well, though here Rab insisted Winter sleep on the floor since the Frasers might not take kindly to having a muckle big dog sleeping on their beds.

"Away wi' ye, lad," Rab waved him off, seeing that Malcolm was too busy drinking another tankard and talking with another man to be bothered with his youngest. "But mind ye hie yerself back here as soon as ye can, since we hae t'get an early start tomorrow."

"Aye, I will, Rab," Neal whistled softly and Winter crawled from beneath the trestle and trotted happily after his master.

Rab decided to go up and check on Belle before retiring, see how she was and if she needed anymore pain medication. He mounted the stairs.

Meanwhile, the entertainers finished their songs and plays and bid everyone goodnight, and so did Marcus, who was feeling a bit sleepy and decided to forgo the nightly gaming and drinking. He followed soon after Rab, leaving the hall to the men and to Malcolm, who had weakness for wagering.

Belle looked up when a soft tapping came at her door. "Come in," she called, having just been assisted into a soft nightgown and quilted robe, she was sitting with her foot propped on a stool by a small table, writing in her journal. "Och, Rab!" she exclaimed and set the diary and her quill and ink aside.

"Good evening, dearie, I came up to see if ye needed anything, like some more medicine, before bed," he greeted, smiling.

Belle considered. "Umm . . . well, my ankle is throbbing a wee bit."

Rab opened his medical satchel, which he always carried on him. "Here's some more poppy extract and willowbark," he said putting two vials on the table. "Put two drop o' the poppy intae a goblet o' water and drink it, and the willowbark needs t' steep in a tea first. That should help ye. Is there anything else painin' ye?"

His concern touched her and she said, "My wrist is a little sore but otherwise I feel fine."

"May I?" Rab asked, and he sat down next to her and gently removed her arm from the sling to examine it. His gentle touch made her wince, and he apologized, saying, "'Tis still tender, I ken. But . . .it looks better than yesterday. Ye need t' keep soaking it in the hot water wi' the salts an' taking the willowbark. Keeping it still an' elevated will help too."

Then he went and fetched a pitcher of water and a goblet and measured out the correct dose himself, just because he was so used to ministering to his patients. Belle drank it down, then said, reluctant to go to sleep yet, "Would ye like t'play chess, Rab?"

Rab's eyes brightened. "Aye, I'd like that. I have no' found a decent chess player in my papa's household yet. I'm teaching Neal, but the lad is no' my match yet."

Belle's indigo gaze sparkled and she said, "I think I can make ye work for yer victory, Dr. Carlyle." She moved the board with the carved ivory and ebony chessmen into the center of the table.

As she did so, a small furry body jumped onto her lap, startling her. "Och, Rumple, ye wee imp!" she laughingly scolded her kitten, who was now kneading her leg. He peered up at her, his rumpled ears making him twice as endearing.

Rab smiled and scratched the kitten behind the ears. "So ye like yer wee pet, do ye?"

"Aye, he's verra lovable . . .even when he bites my toes under the covers," Belle admitted.

The doctor chuckled. "All cats are wee scamps at times." He petted Rumple under the chin and the kitten purred and purred, his eyes lidding. "All right, lad, now I need t' be concentrating on my game. White or black?"

"Black," Belle said, letting Rab go first, since he was white.

Rab studied the board, then moved a pawn forward.

Page~*~*~*~Break

Neal played fetch with Winter after their walk to tire the collie out before bed, and by the time he returned to the hall with the panting collie in tow, the men were deep into their cups and gaming, and a few were playing and teasing the serving wenches also. Neal would have ignored all this and gone up to bed, but then he saw his papa, who was in the middle of a game of dice, turn and leer at well dressed lady in a peacock colored gown, who looked to be about his elder brother's age.

Neal groaned. He knew that look, had seen it on his papa many times before. It was the look that Malcolm usually gave any comely lass at Carlyle before he took them upstairs. Nay, Papa. No' here, where we are guests o' Laird Fraser! He thought in dismay.

Malcolm took another sip from his goblet, his bright green shirt standing out among the more subdued browns, beiges, and murrays in the hall. Malcolm had always been partial to green, just as Neal was to the smoky heather blue he usually wore on his tunic and plaid cloak. Then the Carlyle chief turned back to the dice and shaking the leather cup, cast the die.

As the bones clattered to a stop, a shout went up from some of the Frasers watching. "Snake eyes! Sure n' Lady Luck hae turned her face from ye tonight, milaird!"

Malcolm scowled, shoving half his winnings across the table. There was some laughter, which did not please the Carlyle chieftain, especially when he was in his cups. Then he noticed the lovely lady who was watching in the peacock gown, her hair bright as spun gold in the candlelight and turning to her, said brazenly, "Now, lads, Lady Luck might be fickle, but here's another lass who will make any man's sword stand at attention, aye?" He went and put an arm about her, one hand groping her breast expertly. "Come and gi' us a kiss, pretty maid, an' the luck shall return t' me!"

"Sir! I . . .am not that sort of lass!" the woman cried, struggling to get away.

Malcolm smirked. "Ah, coom now, hiney, an' dinna be shy. I can feel ye're ripe fer the bedding an' ye need no' fear I canna make ye happy, for me lad Roger is always ready t' please the lasses!"

Cheers and roars of laughter came from his drunken guardsmen, though Neal noted that some of the Frasers were scowling. Swallowing hard, he knelt and whispered to his collie, "Winter, go fetch Rab! Go get Rab!"

The collie whined and trotted off upstairs, and Neal prayed the dog would find his brother and bring him back down here, for he was the only one who might speak sense to Malcolm like this.

"Unhand me, sir! I am no' a lightskirt, I am Lady Margaret's cousin, Beatrice . . .!"

But Malcolm was too far gone to care who he held, and he seemed to have forgotten whatever manners he possessed. While several of his men cheered him on, encouraging him to show the reluctant lass a good time, some of the Fraser men were muttering uncomplimentary things and frowning.

Horrified, Neal came up to them, figuring he might at least try and distract his papa somewhat, and said, "Papa, mayhap the lady doesna want to do this now . . .mayhap ye'd best go back t' yer game."

Malcolm growled, "When I want advice from a young pup barely outta leadin' strings, I'll ask for it! Hie yerself away, laddie, this is men's business and ye're no' ready for it, seein' as ye ain't even dipped yer wick yet!"

The men roared at Malcolm's swift wit, and Neal felt himself turn scarlet. He wanted to run away, but he knew he was this poor lady's only champion. "Papa, remember ye wanted t' get an early start—"

"Aye, an' we'll start when I say we're ready, an' no' before!" Malcolm snarled, irritated at Neal's interruption. "Now hie yerself t'bed, scapegrace!"

Desperate, Neal tried again. "But Papa—"

Malcolm's hand lashed out then, cuffing the boy hard on the cheek, and nearly knocking him down. "Git, whelp! B'fore I teach ye to obey wi' this!" he indicated the broad leather belt he wore.

Clutching his now bruised cheek, his face flaming, Neal staggered to his feet and retreated, catcalls and chuckles of drunken men following him as he strove to make a quick exit from the hall.

He glanced back to note with some relief that the lady had managed to withdraw from his papa's grasp and was now backing away, and some of the Fraser men had come to her aid.

Undaunted, Malcolm pursued, yelling, "Now dinna play coy, dearie, for I assure ye the size o' me Roger is a far longer sword than ye hae ever seen b'fore, aye!" And he made an obscene gesture at his crotch.

Neal wanted the earth to open up and swallow him. Papa, ye idiot! Mama'd beat yer fool head in did she see this!

"How dare ye impugn my honor!" cried the Lady Beatrice, still backing away.

As if that were a signal, one of the Frasers snarled, "Cheating Carlyle scum!" and swung at one of Malcolm's men.

After the first punch flew, it was like a dam bursting, and soon the whole hall was filled with swearing, drunken, brawling men, punching and knocking over trestles and benches, the feuding resumed for the moment as old hatreds surfaced.

Neal was halfway up the stairs when he ran into Rab. "Rab, Papa went an' was . . .was . . .tryin' t'kiss a lady . . .and she was no' wantin' his attention, he insulted Lady Margaret's own cousin . . .an' now there's a fight . . ." he babbled.

Rab slowed and then grabbed his brother's shoulder. "Aye, I ken that when yer dog cam t' get me, no' that I cannae hear for myself." Then his eyes caught the darkening bruise on his brother's cheek. "Who did that t' ye?"

"Who d'ye think?" Neal said bitterly.

Rab swore. "Lecherous old pig! Go upstairs an' I'll tend to it later, after I get this mess sorted out." His temper, which had been simmering from the moment he had heard the commotion below and been dragged out of Belle's room by Winter, now blazed into a sudden firestorm.

"But Rab, what about Papa?"

"Ye dinna fash yerself, Neal. I'll handle him." His tone was grim as winter. "Now go on wi' ye, dearie."

Then he strode down the rest of the stairs, his anger like a glittering cloak that covered him in its armor and blazed from his eyes.

Neal watched, unable to look away, as his brother walked calmly through the brawling men, seized a tankard of ale off one of the trestles, then pushed and dodged several scuffling Highlanders until he reached his sire, who was now loudly singing a bawdy tavern tune, "Oooh . . .dance t' day an' all night, drink up me hearties, an' doon worrit 'bout the morning, 'twill come what may, 'tis time to play, wi' a willin' maid in the hay, gi' her a poke an'—hey!" he bellowed as the entire contents of the tankard were dumped over his head.

Shaking his head to clear it, though it was still fuzzy, Malcolm gazed blearily up at his elder son, muttering, "What's t' big idea, Rabbie?"

A furious Rab grabbed his father by the collar and shook him, his voice rasping with anger, but still audible to the rest of the hall. "Papa, ye're drunk an' actin' like a witless looby! D'ye no' ken how ye've insulted our guests? Is this how a laird behaves, an' after ye promised me ye would set a good example? Gamin, drinkin', an' insulting ladies? Ye auld lech, Mama's spinnin' in her grave! 'Tis lucky she's dead, else the shame o' yer actions would surely put her in the ground!"

Malcolm blinked, some of his son's angry words penetrating his alcohol fogged brain. "But . . .but Rab . . .'twas only . . ." he stuttered.

"Aye, 'twas only a few pints an' a few tosses o' the dice," his son sneered. "An' now look what ye wrought!" He turned his father about so he could see the brawling going on. Rab was so angry that had Malcolm not been his laird and father, he might have been sorely tempted to lay the jackass out with his fist on the floor. "Ye dinna even ken what I'm sayin'!" he growled, then he released his sire. God grant me patience for surely I need it, because sometimes I cannae stand my own father! Ever since his mother had passed, Malcolm had fallen more and more into dissolute ways, and despite everything Rab had tried, he could not drag his father out of the morass he seemed determined to drown in. Worse, it was one thing to indulge in such behavior at home, where everyone expected and knew about it, and none would dare reproach the chieftain except his son, but to do so here—in the home of their new kin, who were probably looking for any excuse to point fingers at and mock the Carlyles, was to Rab a great shame and almost inexcusable. He felt like throwing Malcolm in the back of a cart and hauling his drunken arse back to Carlyle this very night.

Trying to rein in his temper, Rab snapped, "The least ye could do, Papa, is help me maintain order—"

But his words fell upon deaf ears, for Malcolm gave him a rather silly grin and suddenly passed out, and Rab almost allowed his head to hit the floor before grabbing his sire and shouting, "Duncan! Geordie! Hie yerselves here an' take the laird t' his chamber!"

His father's two gillies, or manservants, managed to take one arm each of the unconscious Carlyle patriarch and haul him away, while now Rab had to figure out how to separate two factions of brawling Highlanders before real injuries were done beyond bruises, sore heads, and nauseous stomachs from too much whiskey. He was lucky all the men seemed to be doing was fighting with their fists and booted feet and not their sgian dubh, the dirk all Highlanders carried upon them for cutting meat, cheese, bread and as a last resort to protect themselves.

He glanced around, needing to get the men's attention, and not wishing to scream himself hoarse or risk getting his own head bashed in by some lout whose blood was up and too far in his cups to realize he faced the Carlyle tanist and chieftain's son. As luck would have it, one of the performers had left behind a small trumpet, such as those a herald used to announce important guests, as they had been doing a play about King Arthur. Rab snatched it off the table.

Then he put it to his lips and blew the sharp notes to cease fighting.

For a moment nothing happened, and Rab thought maybe it had been wiser to find a set of bagpipes instead.

But then slowly the brawling halted, as several men responded instinctively to that call.

Rab blew another sally, then lowered the trumpet and cried, "Cease this unseemly brangling at once! At once I order ye! Or would ye all be accused of breaking the queen's peace?"

That threat, which carried with it a penalty up to and including death if warranted, made half the men, mostly Carlyles, quit squabbling and draw away, shuffling their feet and hanging their heads like small boys scolded by a stern schoolmaster.

But a few Frasers were not inclined to let it go, nor to obey Rab seeing as he was the enemy's son, and were all for continuing the fight, until a clear icy voice spoke above the fray.

"Did ye no' hear my husband? Frasers, cease this quarreling, or else we shall be forfeit our honor and mayhap our lives for breaking the peace agreed upon with my handfasting," Belle ordered from her position halfway down the stairs, leaning both on a crutch and Neal's arm. "As yer lady, I command ye t' quit acting like schoolboys and settle down!"

At that, the Fraser contingent ceased trying to continue the quarrel and they also looked ashamed.

But then one unwise Fraser man declared, "'Twas the Carlyle chief who started it!"

"It dinna matter!" Belle called back spiritedly. "I'm finishing it!" She fixed them with a glower that would have done her father proud.

Rab turned and nodded at her respectfully, then he looked to where the lady who his papa had been mistreating stood, along the wall with her maidservant. He approached her and bowed, saying, "Ye have my deepest apology and regret for the manner in which my father treated ye, milady. I can only beg yer forgiveness, and tell ye that it willna happen again."

Lady Beatrice nodded, somewhat mollified. "He . . .he dinna seem t' ken that I was no' a tart t' be fondled."

"Aye, and while it's no excuse, my papa was verra drunk, an' when he is in his cups, he loses the wits he was born with." Rab sighed. "I pray ye dinna judge us all by his bad manners. An' come the morn he'll be givin' ye an apology his own self." I'll make sure o' that! An' one for Neal too!

"Well . . .perhaps I shouldna hae stayed past the tumblers," Lady Beatrice said, blushing. "The hall is no place for a lady once the eve sets in." Then she curtseyed to Rab and said, "Thank ye, sir. Ye are most kind." She flashed him a pert grin before departing up the stairs, murmuring a good night to Belle as she did so.

Rab cast each of his clansmen a disparaging glance, then said, "I suggest all ye Carlyles hie yerselves t' bed for I mean to get an early start home tomorrow. An' if ye are sporting a sore head an' queasy stomach from this night's doings on the morrow, I dinna give a bloody damn!

There were murmurs of assent, and they soon went to sleep on pallets, rolled in their plaids beside the two great fireplaces in the hall.

Rab turned and mounted the stairs, saying quietly, "My thanks for yer intervention, Belle. They dinna seem inclined to listen t' me, being who I am."

"Who ye are, is my husband, and as such fit to command any man of my clan," Belle replied.

"May I escort ye back upstairs then?" Rab asked gallantly. "Neal, go on t' bed, lad."

"Aye, Rab." His brother waited until Rab had given Belle his arm before bounding back up the stairs.

They ascended the stairs slowly, due to Belle's injury, and as they did so, Rab asked, "Why did ye come down?"

"I saw Neal on the way t' yer chamber and asked him what was amiss, an' he told me what had happened. I thought ye might need some assistance an' rather than involve my papa, I decided t' help ye instead."

"Ye arrived just in time," Rab acknowledged. "I was afraid I might hae t' start pounding some heads in order to get them t' quit fighting." He shook his head ruefully. "Ye ken as well as I do that there's nothin' a Highlander likes better than a good brawl . . .unless it be his whiskey, a gay tune, or a bonny lass."

Belle could not deny that, and so merely nodded and concentrated on where she put her feet, grateful for her husband's strong arm, for she was still a wee bit unsteady with the crutch.

They had reached her room, and a sleepy Margery was awaiting her mistress' return. "Milady, is all well?"

"Aye, Margie, 'tis all settled. A wee bit o' a misunderstanding, but 'tis done now. Go back t' sleep." Belle said, and allowed Rab to help her back to her bed.

As her husband assisted her into bed, propping her foot upon the pillows, a white paw darted out from beneath the bed and swiped at Rab's boot. The doctor glanced down and clicked his tongue at the kitten, saying, "Ye wee beastie, 'tis time t' sleep, no' play."

But then he knelt and petted the impish Rumple, until the kitten relaxed and he scooped up the small feline and placed him beside Belle. "I bid ye good night, Belle, an' pleasant dreams."

"And I bid ye the same, an' may angels watch o'er ye," she replied. "What time shall we be departing tomorrow morning?"

"Ah . . .mayhap an hour before Tierce," Rab answered, knowing he wouldn't be able to rouse most of the men of his household before then and especially not his papa, whom he intended to suffer whatever hangover he had earned as well as his own blistering lecture for the incident in the hall. "We'll break our fast wi' yer family before we go."

"I'll be ready," Belle assured him, intending to get up at Prime and make sure everything was ready, even though she knew that Missus Potts had everything packed.

Rab took her hand and kissed it gently. "I'm sorry abouy my papa. Sometimes . . . sometimes he drives me out o' my mind. An' I dinna ken how t'forgive him his stupidity."

"'Tis no' yer fault, Rab. Yer papa . . .makes his own choices. An' 'tis he who ought to be ashamed. I dinna blame ye for what he does."

"Then I thank ye for yer understanding. Till the morrow, dearie."

Then he withdrew, leaving Belle to gaze after him with something akin to longing, the heat of his lips still lingering on her wrist, filling her with an odd burning sensation. She sighed and cuddled with Rumple, whose soothing purring soon caused her to begin to drift off, and as she did so, she realized that in a way she had followed the teachings of the devotional she had read that morning. A gentle answer turneth away wrath. Not that she had been particularly quiet when she had ordered her brawling clansmen to stop fighting, but she had managed to stay calm during the crisis, and not answer violence with violence. As had Rab.

She smiled. They were more alike than she thought. Perhaps, just perhaps, this marriage would not be the prison she had feared after all, and Rab was not the beast he could have been, nor the domineering arrogant man so many warriors were. Though she felt sorry for her husband for having such a father. Then she worried that she too would have to deal with Malcolm's drunken behavior. However there was little to be done about it now. She snuggled deeper into the covers and allowed Rumple's purring to send her off into dreamland.

On the opposite side of the corridor, Rab crawled into bed after tending to Neal's cheek and was soon fast asleep, disregarding his brother's faint snores and the bulk of the white collie curled by their feet atop the blankets.

A/N: So who thinks Malcolm is in for a rude awakening tomorrow morning?

A note on Scottish terms—gillie—a male attendant or servant upon a laird. Sgian dubh—a Scottish dirk. Once the kilt came into prominence, which was not until later in the 16th century, this small knife was worn tucked into a Highlander's sock or boot. Prior to this however it was worn wherever the person felt it was easiest to get to, such as a belt or a sheath on the thigh for women.

Tierce and Prime are canonical hours of prayer—and how medieval people told time, since everyone knew the offices, though not everyone observed the prayer hours. Prime was 6AM and Tierce 9AM, respectively. Thus Rab's tentative departure time was around 8AM.